Blame The Booze
by hetalitard
Summary: It's just Alfred's luck whenever he is called to go pick up and take home a heavily intoxicated Arthur from the local bar.
1. Chapter 1

How Arthur had managed to get so drunk was beyond Alfred. Here dear ol' Arthur was, flushed and babbling nonsense, button-up shirt undone and loose around his sides, tie around his forehead like some sort of bandana; and, of course, the best part - his pants were missing, leaving him clad in only his underwear.

Hell, even his _shoes_ were kicked off God knows where.

And of course, **of course**, Alfred was the one stuck peeling him from his seat at the bar all while throwing his bomber jacket over his shoulders, hoisting him onto his back, and carrying him out of said bar whilst the brit laughed merrily at who knows what. Did he mention that Arthur was only in his boxers?

Alfred couldn't have been more grateful it was dark outside by now; people weren't walking the streets, and it gave him a bit more of his pride back due to the fact he was carrying around a drunk, half-naked british guy on his back. He lifted Arthur a bit more up onto his back, because he was moving around so much that he couldn't keep a good grip on him without feeling him slide.

"Iggy, for all the love of all that is holy, will you stop wiggling your ass so much so I can actually hold you up?" Alfred interjected into the laughter and inaudible slurs from behind him.

"Mm, love, you enjoy my wriggling, I can see it written on your face..." Arthur said, voice slurring in what Alfred guessed was intended to be a seductive tone.

"Dude, you can't even see my face from this position. You're on my back." He restrained the urge to roll his eyes, a smile quirking onto his mouth until he suddenly felt an intruding leg lift and wrap around his waist, going lower, and lower...

Alfred almost dropped the brit, sputtering.

"A...Arthur, get your hand off of my Florida or else I'll seriously whoop your ass when I get home."

He heard a worryingly devious snicker near his ear, but yet, the fingers did not slide away from their place on his pants. "Have at it, my dear boy," He heard Arthur whisper againest the shell of his ear; he could feel a grin quirked on his lips. "I've needed a good whipping lately, you kn-"

"Spangle my banner," Alfred interuppted, "how much did you have to drink..." Alfred said lamely, continuing to walk on, feeling his patience fall drastically. He was used to Arthur being drunk, since he usually was always the one to haul him home, passed out or not. He stopped whenever he felt that hand shift and - Lord help him - he heard the sound of his own fly being unzipped.

_Well, this was just awkward._


	2. Chapter 2

"Alfred, what the bleeding hel- aah..!"

"Quit moving around so much, geez, I can't even hold onto you correctly.."

"Nn..that bloody hurts, you twa- Alfred..!"

"Am I hurting you, Artie..?"

"B-Bollocks.. just.. go faster, you.. you idiot..I'm fine.. and my name is Arthur, not that blasted nickn- haa..!"

It was after the small incident involving Arthur's foot at Alfred's vital regions that everything started to go downhill, but interesting all the same. Alfred had swore that if the drunken briton did not take his foot off, he would dump his ass off in the street.

And since Arthur didn't comply, that is exactly what Alfred did.

Although that did solve the problem, it happened to cause another one as well. Sure, it got rid of the drunken dude that was trying to touch him whilst riding on his back...

But it also made Arthur throw his back out.

The irony of the situation left Alfred nearly to the brink of laughter, but he controlled the urge if he didn't want to have a fist thrown at him - which he was sure he'd be able to dodge anyway - so he merely snickered and giggled to himself off to the side all while Arthur hobbled to his feet, bent over and holding his back.

( Arthur fell to the ground with a small grunt of surprise, before slurring out a loud string of insults, many things that Alfred couldn't make out accept for an occasional 'twat', all while standing up from the cobblestone walk - only to have his back pop. Alfred even heard it.

Arthur gasped sharply, and frankly, Alfred had to say:

"What have I been telling you this whole time," chanted Alfred loudly, "What did I say, huh? That's right. I said you were a geezer! Which you have just proven..." and therefore broke into a fit of snickers and mirth.

"And that, is why you are no more but a spoiled rotten teenager, you prat." Arthur replied bitingly, only stumbling over the word 'teenager', much to his surprise and pride. He must be sobering up.

He lived a good block up from this area- Kensington. It wasn't much further, thank God. )

And so now, here Alfred was, assisting Arthur by attempting to help him stand up straight as they walked much more slowly towards his house.

The whole time, Alfred fought a grin as just the smallest push on his shoulders made Arthur shout and writh at him, attempt to throw his arm back and elbow him, kick out at him and miss him by about a foot.

After a long walk of fussing and bickering, they got up to Arthur's front porch steps. Said brit took one look at the stairs, then threw a fit whenever he realized he couldn't get up them correctly. Alfred, finding this a problem easily solved, reached and tucked his hands under Arthur's arms, and promptly lifted him up onto the top stair, earning a few swats at his face, before England merely gave up and slumped back into his grasp, apparentely exhausted with all the sudden exertion.

Simple enough.

Alfred dragged England into the living room, ignoring the small and much weaker protests againest being handled as such, pulling him to the couch and dumping him onto it, bending to take ahold of his legs and pull them onto the armrest, so that he was stretched out.

Proud with his work, Alfred stands up straighter and huffs out a sigh, rubbing at his forehead with his palm, only to stop when he noticed Arthur staring up at him, those verdigris irises focused directly on him, his eyelids heavy and his normally pale face flushed with being intoxicated.

America blinked, one side of his mouth tugging up in an uncertain and awkward-feeling smile, raising an eyebrow down at him, dropping his hand to stuff his hands into his bomber jacket pockets.

"What is it, Artie? Need something, back ointment, heating pad, a glass of milk full of calcium to help you grow big n' strong?" said Alfred jokingly.

"Tch. Alfred, first of all... I advise you stop calling me that name, you twit," stressed Arthur in a low tone that could only hold a warning, "unless you want my foot jamming into your groin, seeing how I'm at a perfect position to do just that. Second of all... My name is Arthur-"

"Yes, yes, I know what your name is," Alfred gave a flap of his hand, trotting around the couch into the kitchen, to rummage for something that Arthur could only guess was food. "But I prefer Artie. You can call me Alfie, if it makes you feel any better."

"I will do no such thing. You can forget about that." replied Arthur primly, eyes narrowing at the ceiling, jumping whenever America's face was suddenly in his line of sight, peering at him, oceanic eyes wide and lively, a boyish grin quirked onto his mouth, obviously ready to start teasing him again about the name that Arthur did not appreciate - but he payed no attention for once.

He, instead, let his mind wander as he examined Alfred. That young boy he once knew had indeed grown into a man's body, with a sharp and angular jaw, low set above his neck, innocent bright blue eyes had darkened with maturity, straw blonde hair that went this way and that, as if rustled. England felt a small, warm feeling pool in his chest, swelling, not noticing the soft smile that pulled onto his mouth. His boy had grown into a rather handsome young man, no matter how annoying he had become.

Alfred, dumbfounded, had stopped from teasing Arthur when he took notice that he wasn't even listening to him, but seemed to be spaced out and simply staring up at him with a admiring look in his eyes.

Huh, thought Alfred. That's the second time he's done that.

Alfred grumbled and started to push himself back upright, but was stopped when he felt thin arms loop insistently around his shoulders, locking at the back of his neck and tugging him down again.

Shocked, Alfred lifted his eyes to look at England, and almost jumped at how close their faces were. The look still wasn't gone from Arthur's eyes.

"Woah, bud, you.. you're drunk, y'know? No need to hang all over me, I'm right here.." Alfred attempted, trying to shrug off the arms, but to no avail.

All of a sudden his arms felt like jelly, as did his legs. They were so close he could feel England's breath gently hitting his cheek. He was afraid to move his head at all in knowing their lips might touch. Cobalt eyes flickered and lifted to stare into England's own emerald ones, who held a somewhat determined light to them.

It was the last thing Alfred took notice to before he was tugged closer, feeling a soft and yet slightly chapped kiss pressed to his mouth, and his eyes had shut before he could think, as a small spark of resignation started in his stomach.

Leaning forwards into the chaste kiss, Alfred took that chance to slowly sink closer. He couldn't do anything but kiss back, he realized. Arthur, letting out a soft hum of approval, tightened his arms slowly around the american's neck, parting his lips, experienced tounge gently sweeping past Alfred's bottom lip, trailing around the lining of his mouth softly, malachite eyes lowered and heavy lidded, obviously pleased with his reaction.

Alfred brought one knee up onto the edge of the couch, propping himself up as the kiss got much more passionate as the minute ticked by, more familiar. More necessary, more lustful. Arthur slid his hand higher and entangled his fingers into Alfred's golden locks of hair.

Carefully, America broke the kiss, feeling both of their breathing mix as they panted softly, catching their breath. He studied Arthur with half-open eyes, who returned the stare mistily, adjusting his arms a bit and attempting to bring himself closer to Alfred, gently arching his back and pressing his waist close to Alfred's own, who gave a small, bewildered breath.

Clearly embarassed, Alfred cleared his throat softly, which made Arthur feel further pleased, a smug smirk forming. Alfred spoke, lowly.

"You're lucky you're drunk, or else I would have punched you just now," a smile in his voice.

Arthur's smile fell, but he laughed through his nose, tugging the blonde american closer to him and slowly burying his face into the crook of his warm neck, pressing his lips to the steady, healthy pulse there.

"I wouldn't have minded, honestly. That was worth throwing my back out... I suppose my years are catching up to me afterall."

Alfred chuckled, slowly sliding an arm around England's back, pulling him closer to himself.

"Which it totally how I prefer you, Artie."


End file.
